The 'Rest in Peace' Affair
by Avirra
Summary: The memorial service for the renown Solo/Kuryakin partnership draws a record crowd - including the T.H.R.U.S.H. mole responsible.  Will her treachery be caught before Agent Slate is caught in her web as well?  Story is from the mole's POV.


**The 'Rest in Peace' Affair**

The attendance at this memorial service is impressive, to say the least. This isn't the first agent memorial that I've been to, but it's the first that I've been to that I was responsible for the deaths of the agents being eulogized.

The famous team of Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin - lying in matching coffins. Solo's to the left, Kuryakin's to the right. If his coffin was slightly behind Napoleon's, it would remind me of how they would go through the halls together. Bodies are not usually at these services, but Mister Waverly made an exception in this case. These partners meant a great deal to this organization. As well as to mine. Trust me when I say that there is also a memorial going on at T.H.R.U.S.H. Central. Well, perhaps a party filled with gloating over fallen foes is a more exact description.

Not too many men linger at Kuryakin's coffin. Really, he did not have many friends. Possibly just one. He does, however, have a large contingent of weeping females paying their last respects. The possibly attainable has now become permanently unobtainable. Kuryakin would likely have been stunned to know how many fantasies he was the center of. At least I won't stand out, but I must be very careful not to draw attention as I snip off a tiny sample of his hair. I've already done the same with Mister Solo. The labs back at T.H.R.U.S.H. will confirm my success and then? I will become legendary.

My real name isn't important. At U.N.C.L.E., I'm known by the name of Alexia Winters. I'm not sure what T.H.R.U.S.H. did with the real Alexia Winters. She may be a plaything at some isolated satrap or be buried in some unmarked grave. It doesn't matter. Her only importance was in the fact that her background allowed me access into the sacred grounds of U.N.C.L.E.'s New York headquarters.

It took over a year for my mission to begin to bear fruit, but we all knew that it was only a matter of time. I had been chosen very carefully for this assignment. I have all of the traits that Mister Solo finds - found - attractive in a woman. Once I was there, I eventually was bound to catch his eye. My instructions were very specific. Turn down his first two approaches - agree to a date on the third. Turn down his suggestion of spending the night together once - give in on the second try.

The mission went perfectly with one tiny sticking point. Kuryakin. Oh, not that he had anything tangible to hold against me, but that sixth sense that he has - had - alerted him to me. I knew he was keeping a close eye on me, but really, in the end, that just made it easier. It was part of the chain, you see. Get to Mister Solo through his weakness for women. Get to Mister Kuryakin through his weakness for his partner.

The chain didn't end the way it was supposed to, however. Again, that was Kuryakin's fault. They are supposed to both still be alive. In the hands of the greatest geniuses in the field of torture ever known, but alive. But no. He spoiled all of that. I am just fortunate that my handlers are willing to accept the drop in morale over the information that could have been drawn from those two wells.

It should have been so simple. I already had Mister Solo in my custody, bound to a very solid chair as we waited for Mister Kuryakin to arrive as we both knew he would. He knew Napoleon's life depended on him coming at the time that I had specified. What I didn't know was that Kuryakin had plans of his own.

I can still see him entering the door. I had heard that the man had all the emotions of a statue and truthfully, in that moment, I believe that stone would have shown more feeling. It was his voice that betrayed him even though he only spoke one word.

_"Napoleon."_

_"Illya." _

The sound of a gun firing was the next thing I heard as it suddenly dawned on me that the two men had said their final farewells to one another with just one word each. I was too stunned to move for a moment as I saw the blood and then saw Napoleon go limp against the ropes.

When I looked back to Kuryakin, I saw what possibly no-one had seen before and would never see again. His mask shattered and I could see a lifetime of pain on his face as he turned his weapon onto himself and joined his partner in death.

Of course, in the official story I told, I had been taken by the enemy and used to lure Mister Solo into a trap. Who was left alive to contradict me, after all?

Leaving the building following the service, I meet with my contact from Central and pass him the envelope containing the hair samples. In exchange, he slides me an envelope with the name of my next assignment. Mark Slate. Good. He doesn't seem the self-sacrificing type. I should be able to deliver him alive to Central.

In fact, it is only a week after the memorial that I manage to get Slate off to himself. His partner had been badly affected by the deaths and taken some off-time to go be with her family, leaving the poor soul to do his own grieving alone. This could work out even better. Losing her partner after already being shaken up? U.N.C.L.E. might easily lose yet another agent. Especially if she feels guilty about not having been here to save him.

I invite him to the same small restaurant that we used to trap Napoleon. Why not use it again? It worked so well before and it isn't as if he had any chance to tell anyone of this place. A good quality wine with a better quality drug mixed in and by the end of dinner, Mark will be willing to walk off arm in arm with the devil himself.

Everything goes as planned until we actually arrive. Mark claims to be feeling too maudlin to be out among the other diners and asks if there are private rooms. Well, that really isn't a problem to accommodate, so we end up in a small room all to ourselves. It doesn't really change anything vital in my plans, so we order our meals and our 'special' wine.

I am concentrating on getting Mark to relax around me so I pay no attention to the waiter as he moves around behind us, laying down the plates of food. But when the wine steward comes in, my head jerks up at the sound of his voice.

_"Would Madam care to approve of the wine selection?"_

Kuryakin? That is impossible! The labs confirmed that the bodies in the coffins were the real thing! My mouth drops open only to have a hand tightly pressed against it by the waiter to prevent me from crying out. A waiter with a very familiar voice.

_"You know? The rumors of our deaths have been highly exaggerated."_

As Solo continues to insure my silence, Mark is tsking to himself as he cuffs my hands behind me.

_"Why do some of the birds with the prettiest plumage belong to T.H.R.U.S.H.?"_

Solo takes a moment to replace his hand with a more permanent gag as I fume.

_"Sad but true. You need to consult with Illya more than me though. He's the one that spotted out our pretty bird."_

_"Just a good guess, tovarich. She was acting too much like an angler instead of an admirer of fish."_

_"Remind me to ask you to translate that for me one day. Right now, we need to cater an order to U.N.C.L.E. Headquarters. Oh, and we do need to thank you, Miss Winters - or whatever your name is. Because of your diligent reporting, for a short period, Illya and I are going to be free to move around in the field like we haven't been able to do for years."_

_"Da. One might even say that you have been instrumental in what we hope will be a major blow to your fellow birds."_

The humiliation burns as I undergo the same fate that had been intended for Mark. Trussed up like a bird for the oven and stowed onto a catering cart for loading into a van to be delivered over for questioning. I can still hear them talking as we drive off.

_"Nice to have you blokes back from the dead."_

_"Why, thank you, Mark. We missed you too."_

_"Both of you alright now? "_

_"Fine, fine. Just a little residual bruising from where my partner over there shot me. And that fake blood is never going to come out of my shirt."_

_"Quit whining, Napoleon. At least you did not have to shoot yourself at close range."_

_"True. All in all, gentlemen? A very satisfying end to a mission."_

_"Very. You know, if she weren't on their side, we would be putting her in for a commendation."_

_"Perhaps we still might, Mark. Her T.H.R.U.S.H. handlers will be __**so**__ impressed if we send it back with her should the exchange for Agent Wilkins be accepted."_

_"Anyone ever tell you that you have a wicked sense of humor, partner mine?"_

_"Da. You."_

A sigh escapes from behind my gag. I suppose I really should have known that it was all too good to be true.


End file.
